


Laughter In The Bookshop

by Arej



Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Other, a study of laughter in a dozen forms, also yet another proposal!, and what aziraphale and crowley get up to in the shop on a given day, i really want this to happen apparently, if it takes me a dozen fics to get it out of my system then i better strap in, these two are ridiculously soft even when they're not speaking, they're not really male but it's m/m since i used male pronouns throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arej/pseuds/Arej
Summary: Day 15 for the advent calendar of prompts.A quick study on laughter in the bookshop, and what Aziraphale and Crowley might get up to in a given day.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent 2019 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561027
Comments: 11
Kudos: 116





	Laughter In The Bookshop

There is laughter in the bookshop.

This observation isn’t so unusual as to warrant commentary, not truly. The bookshop has seen its fair share of laughter: apologetic, as the proprietor tugs a book from a customer. Nervous, when the customer insists they really do wish to make the purchase. Disbelieving, when it becomes apparent that not only does this shop not take charge, or check, but the proprietor actually has no intent to sell at all, even if the customer happens to find enough cash.

Angry, when the proprietor flat out refuses to reconsider. Mocking, as the customer promises to make it widely known in the book-loving community that this shop is to be blacklisted, that the force of one refused customer’s ire will lay low a beloved but bewildering Soho institution and see the ungrateful proprietor’s life in ruins. Amused, as a slammed front door and jingling bell herald a swift departure, as the proprietor files away this new method of discouraging shoppers.

Yes, the bookshop is a familiar home to laughter.

There is laughter in the bookshop, though it is not occurring near the till. It’s not even happening deep in the stacks, where the proprietor is known to chuckle to himself as he arranges books in an organizational schema only he - and perhaps one other - can fathom, designed to best thwart browsers from finding their intended prize. Where a welcome guest - not a customer, never that - often cackles merrily to himself as he turns books the wrong way round, tucks unsettling leaflets for fantastical and obscene events between covers, and generally adds chaos to an already chaotic environment. Where hissing sounds an awful lot like laughter when it follows the thump of a dropped book, a startled scream, and the pounding of terrified feet as a would-be customer flees the premises.

Where two beings compare notes on the departed party’s face while one, man-shaped and not a snake at all despite the wild cries of the poor sod on his way out the door, lounges against a shelf and the other, man-shaped as always but with a pleased glow that hints at something _other_ , turns to admonish the rough book treatment through his giggles. Where the guest, fond and maybe the slightest bit contrite, agrees with a fluttery laugh of his own - and the thump of dropped books, after, take on the distinctly meaty note of landing on coiled serpentine muscles instead of unforgiving hardwood.

Yes, the stacks have seen their share of laughter.

There is laughter in the bookshop, this time coming from the place that has seen nearly every possible permutation of the act. A place intimately familiar with the bark of amusement from a befanged guest’s mouth when the proprietor lands a particularly clever comment; with the indulgent chortle from plush lips when golden eyes wink over the top of dark glasses - or over the top of _no_ glasses, head tilted just so all the same, as if the gesture has become so familiar with obstacles that it carries their weight even in their absence. With the lilting harmonies of two entities laughing in tandem, reminiscing over acts long since buried in the dusty annals of time.

With the victorious glee of a demon discovering precisely where an angel is ticklish, and the helpless laughter that follows. With the triumphant, throaty chuckle of an angel learning which parts of a demon should be touched in which ways to produce certain sounds, until he can play the body before him like a well-tuned instrument.

Yes, the back room has learned a hundred, a thousand forms of laughter.

There is laughter in the bookshop, but this may be its favorite by far: thrilled and wondering, as an angel stares while a demon drops to one knee with a box held out in a shaking hand. Incredulous and fond, as a demon watches while an angel wrestles a matching box from his discarded coat, and joins him on the floor.

Exhilarated, as boxes are dropped to hold hands, and hearts, and each other. Euphoric, as faces turn in tandem, as lips seek lips, as laughter bounces from one mouth to another, held between them and settling into something soft and warm and new.

Breathless, as proprietor and guest, as angel and demon, as Aziraphale and Crowley come together here on the floor in a bookshop in Soho, in the back room, in a _home_.

Yes, this back room knows a thousand and one forms of laughter, and will learn a thousand and one more.

There is laughter in the bookshop, and it is perfect.


End file.
